Broken
by Eyes like Dawn
Summary: After 28 years in the asylum Belle has a difficult time adjusting to life, freedom, and clear thoughts. So long forgotten and uncared for she can't help but feel broken and wonders what Rumpelstiltskin thinks of her brokeness. One-shot. Enjoy!


_A/N: Whoa, yeah, this was meant to go up days ago, but I've been so busy lately. I've taken on an 8week class and I got into a writing contest for some extra cash this Christmas . Anyway, this is some fluffiness and drama. So Rum/Belle deprived right now, I really hope they give us good Rum/Belle on Sunday. Why am I talking so much? Shut up, me! Enjoy!_

**~8~8~**

Wind rustled through the branches of the blooming trees in the early crisp spring morn. The breeze carried scents of newly awakened earth and sky and the last bit of chill from the icy winter receding from the quaint shire of Storybrooke. Beauty washed over the entirely of the land, singing its freedom against the last days of snow.

Though Belle was only garbed sparely in a pink camisole that swayed faintly past her knees, the Dark One had brought her after her first night in his lovely, dust laden home, she enjoyed the feel of the wind gently sliding against her bare legs and exposed arms and tousling through her hair like a playful sprite. She minded not the last bite of the frigid air, but rather embraced it as a sensation she had long been missed under her tomb of concrete and iron and padded walls.

Her only other clothing was Rumpelstiltskin's dark slippers she had stolen from the hall on the way out of the spare room he had cleared for her. They were far too big, but reminded her of her restored love. She wiggled her toes in the inner fleece comfortably, inwardly decided to keep them for her own if he would not protest.

A large dark mug steamed in her curled grip, filled with piping hot tea she had brewed in celebration for her mastery with the stove the previous day. Now she could turn it on and off safely and not burn her hand on the magically heated steel. The bandage still wrapped snugly about her left palm testified to that near catastrophic blunder a few weeks prior.

After she so stupidly placed her palm down upon the blisteringly hot eye, Gold, as he was dubbed in this strange land, had rushed her to the hospital demanding and threatening others with injuries to move aside to see the womanizing Dr. Whale promptly. Belle protested his actions of all but threatening the wrath of doom upon those with ills worse or just as bad as hers, but his possessiveness and caring of her overrode any plea to simply sit quietly with the ice pack on her throbbing palm and wait like every one else.

With a few wary checks, half looking at her in a neutral mingled with an aloof fashion, and cautiously snatching glances of the intently starting Rumpelstiltskin whose dark watery eyes bored challengingly to the flirtatious Whale just in case he decided to try to get a date with his love, the good doctor sent her home with an ointment and a few wraps for her burned palm.

It was healing nicely now. Belle flexed the injured hand with only a slight twinge of pain. A satisfied smile played upon her face as she let the thought slide away satisfactorily.

The scent of raspberries from the steam wafted through her nose as she sipped appreciatively and kept the cup close to her chest for what little warmth it could provide her form. Even something so simple and ordinary such the warm brew was a huge comfort upon her weary spirit. It was something familiar territory, as it were.

Dark amber locks cascaded down her shoulder and back, freshly washed, and still just a trifle damp from her early morning dip in the actually warm shower. The scant sun rising in the red and purple streaked east, glimmer off her wet tresses like shining off of softly lapping waves.

If there was one thing she grew accustomed to quicker than anything else with her freedom and old memories, it was a hot bath. There was nothing quite like the steam and the heated droplets to take her worries away for a minute or two.

Back in the asylum her showers were always cold or on good days tepid. The nurses would strip her of her gray rags and thin jacket and shove her into a small steel room which looked as though it was once used as a closet.

She flinched a bit at another gust of mildly chilled air, recalling all the instances of the freezing water dousing her thin form and trying desperately to get clean with the sliver of soap. Two minutes was all she was allowed out of her off white cell, and yet even then she thought it was a mercy.

To think, back only a few weeks ago she was happy of that ritual done once upon her every two weeks to clear her stench away and make her at least modestly clean. Now, she was astounded at the luxuries all about her. His home was equipped with hot water, heaters, food that was not some shapeless mass of gray goop and vicious jellified substance with no taste, books, blankets, and even his towels where extravagances she would have never dreamed in all those long years on being under the hospital.

Being out and free with her mind once whole again was an expediential overload to her battered senses. At times she found herself so frightened and anxious she merely desired nothing more than to crawl back in the same, safe cell she knew for 28 years.

No, Belle shook her head determinedly in stoic attempts to banish the thought. She could not think of the past, she had to work on getting better, she simply had to. True, Rum was patient with her in all her adjusting, but her perception had never left her even for all those years.

In his warm brown eyes, she could see behind the eternal love a frustration or an anger build their at times even when he spoke tenderly and helped her progress after some abhorrent accident.

Her fingers clenched tighter over the dark blue ceramic in her grip as she stared at the lovely garden in his back yard; trying to force herself to stray away from that melancholic train of thought.

The dogwoods, asphodels, tulips, Hannah's, Easter lilies, and pink snap dragons, planted circuitously about the back yard, were all beginning to nod their heads and spread their blossoms to bid the warm sun good morn. In the corner of his fenced in sanctuary, under the blossoms of a crepe myrtle tree, sat an old, worn bench. A smile twitched upon her pink lips at the sight of it.

When she arrived, the paint chipped red wood and cast iron bench was crawling with spiders in their homes and flecked and smeared liberally with dirt. Her first true project she set upon herself had been to clean and repaint the bench which she had done in due order with lots of mess to clean up afterwards.

It was a simple task, a child's task almost, easy but rewarding. A ghost of a smile flashed upon her face as she thought of the evening she and her Rum spent sitting upon it underneath the crepe myrtle tree growing behind it.

His calloused thumb attempted to wipe a smudge of burgundy paint off her cheek, but it had dried, leaving it in place till she wandered to the shower. He lauded her accomplishment as they sat beneath the blossoming buds and sipped tea, though they both knew it was a task fit for a slow witted fool.

Every day since then she attempted to make progress and yet every day she felt more obtuse than ever.

She broke the television set, splattered his kitchen a bright white when she tried her hand at using the blender, and her most recent blunder, destroying the low buzzing contraption he used to shave this morning after taking a shower. And these were some of her most normal day to day happenstances!

With each dawn a new day of clumsy accidents and knowledge that should have been simple, yet eluded her would demolish a new appliance or an antique. Not one day went by where she did not destroy something or feel so stupid having to ask Rum about the simplest of tools and wonders of this land.

He tried being long suffering, but she could tell when his ire arose behind slow, calm words to explain something that boggled her senses.

She felt as though she was in a world made all of glass and yet where ever she turned she smashed another piece of the world that she didn't belong.

Those who lived here, in some manner of life, had remembrances of this world and all its wonders known as technology. They could fit and adjust relying on what they knew now with their old memories restored along with who they thought they were for 28 years. Yet she had nothing, but fogged memories of this land, swaddled in murk from years of drugs and shots.

Rum would tire of it quickly, Belle feared above all else in Storybrooke. That was a horror that kept her awake through the night when the air was dead and silent as the grave.

In the asylum the grumbling rumble of boilers and the constant plink of leaking water against a rusted pipe had been her eternal lullaby to tempt her into more slumber. Now, in his massive manse of salmon pink, she was truly alone in silence with her marred thoughts that echoed about her head like crashing waves in a tempest.

Yes, one day, she imaged in one of the many terrifying nightmare preying upon her tormented senses, he would grow weary of the hard fought smiles and assured pats of comfort. She would wreck some expensive electronic device or ruin a valuable antique that predated to the time in the Dark Castle and he would snap.

Each nightmare scenario was different than the one before. Some he would simply toss her out upon the street. Whatever soft clothing he gave her would melt away into her old rags. In others he would be hold her wrists while two burly men in white suits hauled her struggling form to a van marked 'Storybrooke Asylum' in some morbidly bright green and red painted letters.

His words where always different in his dry tone of disgust laced with anger and revulsion towards her. "Here, take it back, it's flawed now." Or. "You're defective like a piece of old kitchen wear. You belong on the curb where the rest of the garbage goes."

A shiver crawled done her spine as the nightmares whispers winded through her head relentlessly. She had even tried searching for her old drugs the nurses shoved down her throat to make the voices go away at night. A drug induced doze, no matter how fitful, was supremely better compared against the terror stalking her repose.

Draining the last bit of cooling tea from the cup she determined she would not be defective as Rumpelstiltskin so often declared she was in her dreams. Little by little she would show him her worth and truly work hard to display she was getting properly situated.

"Belle?" Rumpelstiltskin's slightly alarmed voice echoed alarmingly from in inside of the home. His cane tapped beside him at a hurried tempo, telling the tale he was moving swiftly to locate her probably to see if she was unharmed.

Breathing in one large calming inhale of the fragrant air wafting with the perfume of flowers, the beauty steeled herself for a day to do something right. "Out in the garden, Rum." She replied just loud enough for him to hear and not the fearful neighbors wary of their fellow infamous resident and his new roommate. "I'll be in soon." She shuffled to the back door which led to the kitchen.

Inside another kettle of water was already upon the stove waiting to be boiled. The lights in the quaint kitchen were flicked on and a few bowls and pots out told he was about to try his hand at making breakfast. After being in this strange land for 28 years, Rumpelstiltskin had become rather adept at making dishes.

"Feel nice outside this morning?" The business man broached curiously as he tied a plain white apron over his suit.

His dark pinstriped business attire over a maroon silken shirt and blue checkered tie wear was crisp and press per usual in his effort to appear trim, dangerous, professional and extremely wealthy. Gold cuff links dotted his sleeve as the only hint of extravagance in his attire along with the exquisiteness of the garb.

Belle nodded eagerly, slightly amused by the sight of him all trussed up and then having an apron on above it all. "It's very nice outside today. Not to warm, not too cool."

"Good." He smiled warmly to his love. Grabbing his ash wood cane he slowly hobbled over to her. His dexterous fingers lightly brushed the side of her pale flesh as though for evidence she was real. Every morning he did such, and she loved his touch just as much as he adored hers. "I think it will be clear all day. Perhaps we could try a walk outside the garden and down the sidewalk a bit, if you're feeling up to it later." The Dark One suggested happily.

Her throat tightened at the very mention of leaving the sanctuary. Other people would see and gossip and despite what he whispered to her, he still needed to look tough and powerful, not with some simpering pathetic woman huddled close to him cringing at every curious glance tossed her way.

A wary frown pulled upon her pink lips. Tilting her head down ashamedly, Belle shook her auburn tresses almost fearfully. "Please not yet. I need a little more time." She pleaded timidly.

"Of course, Belle-of-mine." He responded immediately. True, they had gone out before but only for emergencies. Belle was still not comfortable leaving out in the open for a simple stroll. "I am here for you when you decided you can handle it." The magical fiend finished.

Belle couldn't help but notice the faint touch of frustration and impatience in the reply. He was growing tired of her cravenness and excuses. No doubt, people were already wondering who was the mysterious figure seen floating about his monolithic house like a specter or long forgotten ghost only brave enough to roam the dark halls when the master of the house was not present.

He must have thought her so cowardly now. A thing he thought he loved, but only saw the shell of that woman.

"Rum." She began optimistically, forcing herself to change her mind. If she could show some way of improving, then perhaps he would not order her away. Taking a step towards him strongly, her foot caught upon the large slipper.

Before she even knew what had occurred, the world went sailing in a blur of a menagerie of colors. Ceramic exploded as it hit the dark wood floor sending small shards spraying in every direction.

His mug! Belle wanted to bay in sheer frustration. The one cup he used, thankfully not their chipped cup, was now before her in a myriad of shards as proof of her everlasting clumsiness.

Ignoring the ache from her tumble, though her bones felt jarred, the beauty leapt to her knees. Her hands were almost an indiscernible flash as she snatched up piece only to drop them again and scratch her hands upon the sharp shards of cracked pottery.

"I'm sorry, I'm so stupid and clumsy and foolish." Tears welled in her sapphire orbs, but she held them back. Who was she joking; she would never grow used to this land or comfortable here. She was tainted now, scarred beyond repair. Emotions of shame and sorrow hitched tightly in her throat as she continued to scoop of slivers of broken mug. "I'm sorry I'm broken."

Slowly, the Dark One fell to his knees to help with the mess. His voice was soothing as he aided in snatching up the large shards. "It's alright, Belle, mistakes happen. I know you didn't mean to-" He paused, his mind just registering the words so hatefully spoken.

Loved and comfort radiated in his gaze as he dropped the shards of ceramic thoughtlessly. They meant nothing, when he finally figured what was tormenting her so.

Although she constantly protested she was fine and nothing bothered her, Rum knew her well enough to see past the charade even after all their years apart. But he had not known her reason for sorrow till that moment. "You are not broken, Belle-of-mine."

A warm flush rose to her features at the sudden words that slipped her mouth. Never did she want to blurt her thoughts aloud. "What I meant was…"  
"No." Rum interrupted gently ignoring the shards of navy blue ceramic her slipped near her. "It was a slip of the tongue that came beckoned from the heart." He cocked his head slightly to the left, his brow knit in thin lines of consternation. "Do you think I see you as broken?"

"What else am I?" Her voice shattered into a heart wrenching sob as his arms wrapped over her figure. She laid her head upon his chest, pouring her heart out. "I am no good to anyone anymore. I can't even clean properly now without causing a wreak or misfortune. If I can't do anything, that means I am flawed, defective. Broken is what I am." Sniffing, she buried her tear stained face into his expensive suit. "And…and…nobody wants something that's broken and useless."

Rumpelstiltskin hugged her body closer, his words abandoning him at her disparity. She thought herself something less than what she was. Did she not know how much she did for him every day, how much of his forgotten humanity she coaxed into him?

Why was it she only saw this brokenness in herself, when he saw a woman who encompassed his entire world?

"Every day I see you I do not think of brokenness. I think of a woman I have longed for, for nigh thirty years." The Dark One replied gently. "You are my light in the darkness, a ray of sun. Broken is the farthest thing from my mind."

How she wanted to believe him! Believe that he, despite the scars beneath her clothes, the morass of jumbled thoughts, her ineptitude, could still treasure her as he had once done like one of his priceless trinkets. But how could he? How could he love her now that she was this thing subdued by cruelty and havoc through her miserable existence here?

"Belle, when the queen lied to me of your death, I felt what little you had brought out in my heart shatter." Rumpelstiltskin admitted. "For years, I have walked around a broken man." Gently he lifted her chin up to face him. "I know what it means to be broken, and you are not." On an afterthought, he chuckled. "And if you were, that brokenness is only the half that melds with mine to make us whole."

A small sigh escaped her lips at his words, so tenderly spoken from the heart. She felt a smile wont to break through the thick overcast of shame, but it fell short. The tears pattered away as she untangled herself from the folds of his apron and suit. Red streak and mottled her cheek, but she managed somewhat of a half grin. "You could always say anything to lift my spirits." She pecked a faint kiss on his lips.

"Because it's true, Belle-of-mine." Rum answered promptly, not quite catching the trill his tone once possessed in the old realms.

"So…so you won't send me away?" She queried anxiously, her mind deciding to put her last fear to rest.

A growl, like that of a protective beast, rumbled in his chest. Combing his fingers through her damp, dark amber tresses, he shook his head. "I made that mistake once. It will not happen again." Rum swore solemnly to her in an oath no being in this world or the other could sunder.

Belle allowed a small sigh of contentment. Ignoring the shards of ceramic, she snuggled against his frame as he held her upon his kitchen floor. "You have no idea how happy I am to here you say that."


End file.
